A Father's Tears
by TolkienScribe
Summary: Imrahil meets a father by the Sea. Companion piece to "By the Sea". One-shot. Complete. Part of the Green Leaves Universe. Please read and review. :)


**Author's Note:**

**Disclaimer: **Do not own.

This is a companion piece to "By the Sea". It would be better if you read that one before this one.

Somebody take the laptop away from me please...

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><p><em>Dol Amroth,<em>

_Fourth Age,_

The day had brought upon him an unexpected chill from the sea and Imrahil shivered lightly. He was old, and he knew his time was coming shortly. Imrahil straightened in his chair, the thick blanket wrapped about him a statement of his failing health. But still, Imrahil passed a healthy scowl at the wooden cane resting against the dresser. He had gotten it from his three sons, who presented this to him in a private dinner.

"You are getting old, father." One of them, Elphir, said with eyes twinkling.

"I am not yet a dotard, boy." Imrahil had responded dryly, taking in the sight of the well-polished cane made of oak, and adorned with thin golden rings upon the head. "Keep your cheek to yourself."

But if he would be true to himself, the chill had started to creep up into his bones, and his flesh had started to dampen and ache. The years were catching up to him and the vigilance and the stamina he had during the War of the Ring was now leaving him slowly and carefully. But it will be a while yet since he would take up the cane to move about.

Most of his duties he had now given to his eldest, though he still participated frequently to keep himself busy. He still held the title of 'Prince of Dol Amroth' which will pass onto his eldest when his time came.

The weather was not in good favor, for the clouds were gathering and cold wind was blowing, but Imrahil still rose from his chair. He had stayed inside for too long, he reasoned as he was helped with a thick cloak by his servant before dismissing him. A stroll in the beach before the storm struck would do him good.

This side of the beach was reserved mostly for the royal family or for the nobles, and that was only for some short hours. He walked close to the shore, taking in the homely scent of the sea and the white foam as the waves darted into the land before drifting away, the gulls crying above his head. He ignored the guard discretely following him, as used to their presence as he always was.

It was then he realized he was not alone. The figure standing beyond him was tall, cloaked in a heavy cloak to ward off the cold, standing in the water. As he closed upon him, he found the person to be none other than an Elf.

The Elf stood at the seashore, his boots half-deep into the sea, but the Elf did not seem to care. Imrahil felt a bit of pity, for sea water was not kind to leather. But it was his song that left him so enrapt. The Elf's voice rose and fell, and it was as if he spoke of his grief and complained of his pain as he sang, his voice mingling with the shifting of tides. The Elf did not sing in Sindarin, a language Imrahil was fluent in, nor in Quenya. The words sounded foreign to him, lilting but strange. But he knew he was singing of loss, and the love in his voice marked it as something dear to him.

At last the Elf fell silent, gazing in thought into the waters. Imrahil did not break his thoughts, not wanting to interrupt and not wanting to leave either.

"Forgive me," the Elf said at length. "I did not know that I had company." Even now some sadness lingered in his fine voice from his song.

"I did not mean to intrude." Imrahil apologized.

The Elf looked at him, inclining his head before turning his attention back to the sea. Silence stretched between them both before Imrahil said at length, "You were grieving."

The Elf was silent for so long that he thought he would not reply but then the Elf sighed and said, "Aye, I was."

"For who?"

The Elf turned to look at him and Imrahil felt as if he looked upon the lines of a familiar face. Long and thin but comely in appearance, with long black hair framing his face, the Elf possessed grey eyes similar to the ones Imrahil and his children possessed. But he saw deep sadness bounded in those eyes.

"You-"Imrahil's throat felt dry, as he looked upon the Elf.

"You possess Elven blood, Lord of Dol Amroth," the Elf said. "You have guessed well."

"You were Lady Mithrellas' father."

"Were?" The Elf echoed. "Tell me! What myths and legends surround my daughter's tale?"

"We have none, for we supposed she either fled or…" He did not want to touch the other possibility. But the Elf understood.

"We do not know what became of her either." The Elf said. "Bound by duty and oath! That was why I could not pursue her when I heard she was missing. And I heard of her disappearance years after she had left. And now it is too late to look further." The Elf smiled sadly, and then spoke quietly, as if more to himself than to Imrahil. "She was headstrong, stubborn in her own way. I tried to reason with her, to accept the Sindar, but nay, her heart was with the trees and she stayed with the few Silvan who did not accept the coming of Sindar. She was friends with the Lady Nimrodel."

A sigh passed the Elf's lips as he turned towards the Sea.

"My dear child," the Elf breathed, tears welling up in his eyes again. "I have searched and searched, and yet I found no trace of her. Has she sailed or has she Faded? The years have stretched into centuries and still I do not know. I dare not sail, in fear that she tarries here, and I dare not tarry, for fear that I too may Fade."

Imrahil thought of his dear daughter Lothíriel and his father's heart twisted at the thought of her missing for years without any word. He would kill himself in the agony of not knowing. He cannot imagine what it must be like for this father, so deep in anguish.

"Will you ever know?" Imrahil asked.

"I do not know." The Elf said. "Perhaps if I leave the Hither Shores and go to Aman will I find my answers but alas for this! There is no definite answer!"

The two fathers looked at each other, both having daughters. Imrahil reached out and clasped the Elf's hand in both of his wrinkled ones.

"Come," Imrahil said quietly. "I cannot lessen your pain, but perhaps you may come with me and see the rest of my children, your daughter's descendants."

The Elf looked at him for a moment and nodded. Imrahil led the Elf back, "After all, this is not a weather to be out in. What is your name, lord?"

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

First time writing a tragedy. Tragedy in the sense that the Elf Lord will never know what became of his daughter. And that his daughter is lost.

When I read Mithrellas' story, I was like "Seriously? And NO ONE in Lorien heard of this?" But then I realized that back then, there would be no cellphones or rescue agencies and like, so news would, maybe, maybe not, come months or years later and even then the father would not just get up and go. The times were harsh and in spite of the longing to go and see, he would be tied down by duty and he would be suffering because of his choice.

Yep, not my cheeriest of stories.

Let me know what you think?


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